


cersei’s a friend of mine

by HarperHolmes



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Beautiful Golden Fools, F/M, Sibling Incest, Songfic, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29486247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarperHolmes/pseuds/HarperHolmes
Summary: What if our relationship becomes real?
Relationships: Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister
Comments: 26
Kudos: 25





	1. cersei’s a friend of mine

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I'm so glad that it is finally possible for me to post something new.
> 
> This work is different and was inspired by two major things. I think it's called a songfic and a filmfic. It was a pure experiment, but I was proud of the way the things turned out in the end.
> 
> The song is called "no body, no crime" by Taylor Swift, and if you are not familiar with the plot, I would highly recommend to postpone its listening so you would not spoil the impression. But if you know the song — that's even more interesting to see if your guessings are the same with mine.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

_Good thing my daddy made me get a boating license when I was fifteen._

In a tradition dating back to college, the three of us got together every Tuesday for dinner and a glass of wine at a restaurant near my house. Who are we? Me and my close friends. Why Tuesday? Because on Friday we used to be busy with our own business. Why am I so sure? Because it was so from the very first days of our friendship.

Melly and I became friends in high school when we signed up for extracurriculars in English literature together. She always had an abundance of wet wipes, gum and harsh judgments on any issue — especially anything that involved guys. When I found out all the details, I exhaled: it was minus one challenger in the ring.

_Such a dyed-in-the-wool cat lover like me could choose pretty friends under one condition: if there were no doubts in their absolutely nonstandard sexual orientation._

_Or I should look for a married one — that's how I found the second._

She transferred to our college in the midst of the semester due to the moving. Melisandre went into a fit of fake coughing when we first heard her name — the professor was marking those present — and then showed me a note on her phone.

_“Sounds like an escort girl name.”_

_“Like an escort girl name from Mount Olympus,” I typed._

I couldn't help but agree. In college I became bolder, and now it was already unclear which of the two of us could have taken the Golden Globe for inventing funny nicknames for classmates. Do they award Golden Globe for this? After all, this is part of the profession of the future pop journalist — and what else will we become, having received a diploma from this, if I may say so, college? And moreover, there are stages in life that you have to go through, one way or another, and sometimes the sooner the better. It's like drinking. It's better to be able to do this by some age.

But life is a funny thing. The new girl with a magic name not only did not turn out to be an escort, but was even married at twenty-one. It was unusual — just like the fact that she was a person albeit non-communicant, but she missed human interaction with someone other than her husband.

_“Where’d you go to college?”_

_“ Oh, many places.”_

_“Where’d you live?”_

_“Here and there.”_

Taciturn, acrimonious, and as if wrapped in a shroud of mystery — of course, I wanted to get closer. The new classmate was the embodiment of everything that I once wanted to be: a living revelation, about which you know nothing with certainty. Can it be possible? Shouldn't a reputation — both good and bad — be preceding, entering a room before a person and painting it either grey or gold?

_But hers was red._

She was managing to say practically nothing about herself, but nonetheless she became the missing third element of the system; in attempts to find out some details, Melly and I became even more united; our interest did not fade, but warmed up with renewed vigor, especially over time.

Sometimes, back in college days, her husband would pick her up in an old clapped-out purple Volkswagen. This type was well-known, there are men like him in your own circle. He was gorgeous, and he knew it. “And my wife is gorgeous,” that could be read in his slightly narrowed eyes, and his hand fell on her waist in the usual possessive manner. This is what you expect from a daddy with many years of experience, but not from a young guy who shifts with little money and ekes out to pay for their small house.

Both were invited to my wedding, and there was no man more obsessed with his wife than Jaime Hill. Even my own spouse would be in second place. With all due respect, Orty.

In the end, either under Jaime’s pressure, or deciding that it was not very decent, but Cersei invited Melisandre and me to her place — after four years of friendship. It was her twenty-fifth birthday. She repeatedly said that this was a modest dinner for the closest ones, asked not to dress up and not to give her anything. Of course, no one listened to her. The new silk shirt was wrapped in rustling gold paper, and Melly carried a box of wine glasses for eight persons.

Their house was old, they didn’t have enough money to rent something more: according to Cersei, Jaime was trying to develop his own business with might and main, and she herself had only recently finished her studies. A bedroom, a living room, a kitchen, a guest room, two bathrooms and a small attic — and none of these rooms had new faces. Only Jaime greeted us in the kitchen, took a bottle of beer from the fridge and went into the living room to watch TV. Cersei was already finishing up the cheese plate.

“Shall we wait for somebody else?” Melly could not resist, and after this question the air seemed to thicken, and from somewhere even smelled of rot. I felt like stepping on her foot. “Your parents?”

“His parents died,” Cersei said with truly royal patience, putting the knife in the sink.

“And yours?”

_She just won’t stop._

“My father and I don’t talk no more,” she said shortly, wiped her hands on the kitchen towel and took the box from Melisandre's hands. “Thank you, it seems we haven’t got any…”

“And why?”

_Damn you, Mel._

Cersei glanced into the living room, where the TV blinked like a blue in the dark, shrugged and chuckled. “He didn't like my choice.”

Cersei's handful of food for thought put a lot of things in their place. I suddenly realized when she had had time to acquire habits unusual for poor people. She was throwing out the clothes after the first small snag, and could live in the same sweater for a month, provided it looked great. It's another matter if there was a turn for the worse for her with marriage. Then it looked like she could well be the very only daughter of a very rich man. Well, you know, when your daughter looks so much like your deceased wife that you can't refuse her anything.

Except for the running away with a pretty penniless boy.

I’m not saying that being poor is a sin. Some time ago, I had to work as an au pair, until a friend found a job for me in a publishing house. But it's a sin not to try to get out of this situation. And her husband did not seem to try. Every time I saw the Hills, one nasty, disgustingly everyday saying came to my mind. _When poverty comes in at the door, love flies out of the window._ And they lasted an incredibly long time.

They say that over time, close people become surprisingly similar to each other. They adopt from each other the smallest, barely noticeable gestures and elusive details: they equally tap on the table when they are waiting for something, speak in low voices, and ask questions in the form of statements. For all their outward similarities, the unity of thoughts did not even loom on the horizon. Cersei, whose eternal pretense has become second nature, well pretended that this state of affairs did not oppress her at all, that she believed that the next business plan would work out, and she would be able to buy lipsticks not at a discount. I say “pretended well” because if she did it masterfully, then I would have no reason to convict her of faking her emotions.

A couple of years after the wedding, my husband and I had a son, and for a while I was cut off from what was happening in that family. I even forgot how hard it was for them until, on Russell's third birthday, Cersei gave him a homemade blanket with hand-embroidered stars.

“You know, it seems he did it,” she said, her eyes glowing, when she helped me to place candles on the cake, and I remembered how recently on the phone I heard that they should probably move somewhere else.

_We stayed here for an unreasonably long time._

I guessed what changes were coming. They bought a new car, the whole small family moved into a house two streets away — bigger than the old one and brand new, like their life — and a year later they were able to buy it. Melisandre was also happy: this meant that the Hills were definitely not going anywhere anytime soon.

“Now they’re going to have a baby too,” she declared with the air of a connoisseur, while we waited for Cersei for dinner to celebrate her small promotion at work, “it is not possible to raise a child with money from side works, but now this is in the past. And I will stay alone, run a dog shelter…”

She always liked to play poor as a joke, because she didn't know what it was like to really need something.

We did not change our habit; neither me having a child, nor the mountain of work that fell on Cersei, nor Melly's frequent business trips around the country — nothing would make us miss our Tuesday night. When you go to the same place for, like, years, then not only the owners know you, but even the frequently changing staff. Many years ago, we chose one chain restaurant because it was the closest to our college — and we continued to go to it, although after ten years we could afford a different price category.

The dark times were over. Melly was setting the money aside for a summer trip, a year later Russell was supposed to go to school, and Cersei…

She took a day off that evening because she wasn't feeling well. So she told Melly on the phone. “Nicely celebrated,” she laughed into the phone speaking to me, retelling the dialogue. “A difficult age. Jesus never made it any further. But I told her,” Melisandre was obviously doing several things at the same time and was holding the phone on her shoulder because her voice got louder, “to stop pretending and come to seven, as usual. She just needs a little drink.”

Cersei arrived a little late. We usually sat at a table by the window, not far from the door, but when I saw her face, I myself suggested that we move to a quieter place. She was wearing a homely gray striped jumper, jeans that she never wore when going out (those are gardening clothes!), and her hair was in a bun. The concealer, alas, did not hide the bags under her eyes.

“You could insist,” Melly began, much more uncertain than in the morning.

“It's all right,” Cersei smiled, and gestured to the waiter for a menu, “thanks for waiting.”

While we were waiting for her order, Melly was talking about the place she would be sent to on the weekend. She will fly to Orlando as a photographer for some event related to domestic violence. The topic was close to me and even interesting, but I could not tear my eyes away from Cersei's hands, which had never been calm, and now they just went crazy.

She endlessly fiddled with her wedding ring, twisted it, took it off, put it on her finger, took it off again, and so on several times until the wine was served.

It is useless to pressure such people, they won’t tell you anything — you just need to create the proverbial sympathetic surroundings: they will feel safe, trust and open up. No matter how closed person Cersei is, we have already gone through this with her, and very successfully — otherwise we would not have been friends for so many years.

“And how are you?” I asked when her glass was already half empty. “How were your birthdays?”

She was born on the same day with her husband. It was a sign of fate that I personally found terribly romantic. As long as we knew each other, she was always very passionate about this day, trying to choose a gift that he would like and remember for a long time. His plans for this day in the list of her priorities were always higher than her own, and she only celebrated her twenty-five with us — at his insistence, in the roomless kitchen of their first home.

“I’m alright,” Cersei answered colorless, and awkwardly turned in her chair to find the waiter. “Can we have another bottle? The same one?”

Usain Bolt himself would have envied the speed with which Melly and I managed to exchange glances.

“What was the gift?” Melly asked carefully, and Cersei clutched at her ring again.

Previously, she had another, cheap, yellow gold. When they moved to another house, Jaime insisted that the rings also needed to be changed, that they should completely renew themselves and ask each other again if they still wanted to be together. For three years now she had worn another, made of white gold with a small diamond, but now she tormented him with such fury that I even felt sorry for it.

She finally saw me looking at her fingers and hurriedly moved her hands under the table. “A book.”

“A book?”

“Yes. A good, interesting one. With pictures. Something about color matching in clothes.”

The waiter justified the awkward silence by his appearance.

“I just…” she suddenly spoke up again, and I exhaled. She _needs_ to talk. “It seems to me that.. God, I don’t know.”

But I knew. I knew what she was trying to say and understood that it was too late to stop her; such thoughts, once settled in the head, never leave it. I also knew that husbands do not give their wives books if it is not the Kama Sutra. Especially the husband of Cersei. He couldn't be dissatisfied with his life.

“Just a month ago, I… Never mind,” she finally exhaled, and looked somewhere to the side. “I think that.. he met someone.”

A nervous laugh left my lips, and I was ready to kill myself for it.

“It's impossible,” I said immediately. “Anyone who has seen you at least once would say the same.”

“Never in my life have I been more in agreement with Tae than now,” support came from where I did not expect.

“A month ago,” Cersei interrupted us, and I could already hear drunken sobs in her voice, “I came across one extract from our joint account. Well, about a purchase, a check or something.. There was a necklace, gold, with a pendant.” She sighed loudly and put her hands on the table again. “I thought it was for me. For the birthday. I’m so damn _blind_ ,” she pointed out poisonously. And this is how a nerve storm usually begins. I opened the uber app under the table.

“And.. You know..” while I called a taxi to Mel's house, the inflamed brain had already climbed into the annals of memory and began to remember everything that until yesterday could not find an explanation. “And today he came home, and in the corner of his mouth, right here,” she showed where, and thin fingers lingered on her face for a while,” he had a trace of lipstick. Light, pale pink, almost colorless. And that week too. I thought that maybe one of his colleagues celebrated something, and it was a cake, and.. ” she looked at her glass, and then raised her eyes all of a sudden. “But he doesn't eat sugar. I’ve just remembered. Strange, isn't it? It's strange what your consciousness can do when it doesn't want to see.”

“It still doesn't mean anything,” I don’t think Melly believed in herself enough to try to dissuade her, but in my mind I gave her ten points for trying.

“We always had sex on our birthday,” Cersei suddenly blurted out, and the green eyes drowned in wine again. “And yesterday he said he was tired. I lay next to him the whole fucking night, saw how the second of August became the third, and all I could think about was that necklace with a cake.”

I vividly imagined how I had caught Orton cheating, and felt the acid gathering on my tongue. The screen lit up, signaling that the carriage awaited, and I cautiously showed Melisandre the phone.

“Cersei, our taxi’s here. Do you want to stay at my place tonight?”

Melly and I were getting stronger telekinesis every second. The last thing that she now needed was to work herself up into a state even more, and this is what will begin, as soon as she sees Jaime.

“No, no,” Cersei answered hastily and reached for her wallet, although the bill was paid while she was hypnotizing her hands. “And I’m probably better off walking. I need some air.”

Of course, this was out of the question. In the worst case, one would have to call someone who cannot be named now, but no one would have let her go home alone.

When the car turned towards their house, he was already standing on the porch, leaning against the open door, in a gray tracksuit and with a displeased face. The yellow light from the street lantern made a real grimace out of the Greek-handsome face. It came to me, somewhere in the subconscious, that he hadn't reacted like that to our meetings earlier, but I decided that the wine had an effect on me too. “Where’s your car?” he shouted in our direction.

“Near the restaurant,” Cersei replied, slamming the door as I rolled the glass down to the middle. She overcame the thorny path five meters to her door without incident, but I still hoped that she could change her mind. “I'll be back for it tomorrow after work.”

The husband put his arm around her shoulders, gave a short kiss on the temple and let her go in front of him. When he took hold of the handle, our eyes met; he made sure I was looking at him, smiled with the corners of his lips and closed the door behind them.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work has more characters, and I will add them as the story continues ;)


	2. she's gone, but she's everywhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi to everyone!! Hope all of you are doing well and have time to read a new chapter. This one is actually the biggest, and there is only one chapter left, so we are very close to the end and I'm very excited about it!
> 
> Hope you enjoy and we'll meet in the comment section :)

_ I think he did it but I just can’t prove it. _

Somebody was knocking on the door so hard that it threatened to break.

“Orton, the door! Orton! ORTON!”

When the third call went unanswered, I opened my eyelids, and realizations began to come one after another, like notifications on the phone when you had no Internet, and then you came home and connected to wifi. Firstly, my husband is not at home, because today is Wednesday, and everyone except me is at work. Secondly, Russell is not at home either. Thirdly, I got up at 6 o’clock to see them off, and tried to take a nap.

Another knock.

I threw a robe over my shoulders, took a sip of water and ran to the door, cursing. "Damn, it’s 7 a.m. .."

There were two people outside the door: she was in an ordinary classic suit, but his pale blue shirt left no doubts about his occupation.

“Taena Merryweather?” he asked immediately.

_ Hell, they weren't wrong. _

I nodded and pulled my robe tighter. “So, how can I help you?”

“I’m Detective Stark, and this is my colleague Detective Greyjoy,” introduced a woman who, in fact, was supposed to be only seven years older than me. “We would like to ask a few questions. Could we?” she asked, and it seemed to me that she looked at me with pity.

“Come in,” I let them in and closed the door. “The kitchen’s on the left.”

In the kitchen, I filled the kettle with water and looked questioningly at the cops. Cheerful, fresh, probably my home is the first place where they went today. “Don’t tell me something happened to my husband or son,” I woke up completely and began to worry seriously. “ I…”

“No, no,” Stark reassured me, “I think your family is okay. Tell me, Mrs. Merryweather, what is the nature of your relationship with Cersei Hill?”

I already wanted to ask what that had to do with Cersei, but I remembered that today’s morning I wanted to catch her at her work. Yesterday…

“Mrs. Merryweather?”

“What?” I stared blankly at the young detective, Greyjoy. “Excuse me, what did you ask?”

“What kind of relationship do you have with Cersei Hill?” Stark repeated patiently.

“We’re friends.”

“How long?”

“Oh …” the kettle boiled, and I walked away from the table, turning my back to them. “Somewhere from two thousand and seven. About ... about twelve years, maybe.”

“Can I have some coffee?” the young detective interjaculated.

“Theon!” the woman reproached him.

“I'll make it,” I answered quickly, and was so glad to have my hands and eyes occupied.

“When did you last see Cersei Hill?”

“Tuesday last week,” I almost reported. I knew it for sure, because ...  _ Cersei Hill _ , the voice of Detective Stark repeated in my head. I never called her by her full name, and now it sounded foreign, like something non-existent, like something  _ fake _ . “I know that for sure, because we meet every Tuesday, but yesterday she didn’t come.”

Melisandre and I called her several times, but _the_ _person we were trying to reach was currently unavailable_. We thought to visit her at home, but there was a high probability of finding not only Cersei, but also Jaime — and after what she told us a month ago, we tried as hell to talk about things that would not mention her husband.

In general, everything seemed to be working out for them: either the alarm was false, or Jaime was much better at faking adoration than at choosing gifts. For our next gatherings, Cersei came all dressed up, with her favorite wine lipstick on her lips; she was rarely but sharply joking and drinking champagne, not wine. The impression was that she was very ashamed that she had become so unstuck then — and by her behavior she tried to erase that image of a humiliated wife from our memory, the wife who was interested in only one question.

_ What did I do wrong? _

“You say she didn’t come. Where? Where do you usually meet?”

“We have two favorite restaurants, and we alternate, yesterday we were at Olive Garden.”

“Everything as  _ the _ husband says,” Greyjoy put in quietly, so that only the detective could hear him, but I have no problems with hearing.

“You say your friend didn’t come,” Stark continued, as if nothing had happened while I poured coffee. “And what, you didn’t call her?”

“We did,”  _ everything, as the husband says _ , “I'm sorry, I don't get why …”

“Cersei Hill didn’t come home yesterday — her husband thought she might have stayed with you, but when she didn’t return by midnight, he called her office. Of course, his wife wasn't there — but what’s even more interesting, Cersei Hill wasn’t at work at all on Tuesday.”

“Why didn't he call me or …”

“He claims he did, but your phone was off.”

I rushed into the corridor. The bag was in its usual place under the mirror — and the phone showed no signs of life. “It’s discharged,” I said for some reason, as if it wasn’t obvious.

“Mrs. Merryweather, would you agree to come to the station with us? It will be much more convenient if…”

_ To the station? To the police station? _

“Mrs. Merryweather?”

“Yes,” I said absently to Detective Greyjoy, “I'll just get dressed.”

I was kindly allowed to drive in my car. I guessed what would happen now: Melly would be asked the same standard questions when they could get through to her.  _ Didn't come home.  _ Incorrect wording — they don't even know exactly when she left. And nor does her husband.

Speaking of husband.

Surely he’s there, for sure he made a big fuss over himself in his usual manner: everyone should run with their tongues out just because he honored them with his presence. And now I will probably have to pretend that it wasn’t his wife who despised herself for what happened to her. What I didn’t even doubt; while we were in a taxi that evening, Cersei was looking for her flaws like a true drunk woman; she was interested in everything from non-existent fat belly to her lack of empathy and desire to share his interests.

I wonder if there are wives who support cheating.

“Would you mind repeating what you said one more time in the presence of Mr. Hill?” Stark asked, holding the front door for me. Despite the early hour, phones rang in several offices at once. “Maybe it will give him some thoughts.”

“Of course.”' The small office had only two tables, two small cabinets and four chairs, and everything was grotesquely and directly contrary: the table that Stark went to was clean and had a neat stack of papers on it, while the second was buried under folders and paper cups.

“I asked you to clean it up, Theon,” she grumbled. Then she nodded to the chair. “Have a seat. Mr. Hill will be brought in now.”

A picture of Jaime in handcuffs immediately appeared in my head. “Will be brought” is not the most suitable expression. Bad wording, some may say, discrepancies are possible.

We sat in silence until the door shut. He wore gray trousers from a tracksuit and old sneakers. I had to raise my eyes, and after that I felt sorry for him, and was disgusted with myself.

_ He looked like a man who had lost his wife. _

“Excuse us for your waiting, we returned as quickly as possible.”

“Have you put her on the wanted list?” he asked a little hoarsely, and himself finally raised his head. His hair cast a shadow over his eyes, but even from where I was, I could see how hard it was for him to keep them open.

“I already explained to you,” Stark winced slightly. “There are not enough signs that her absence is somehow connected with a criminal ground. Could she go..”

“She has nowhere to go,” this new tone surprised me much more; it was almost aggressive. “She has no relatives, and her friends, as I understand it,” he looked at me, and for the first time some semblance of a grin appeared on his face, “don’t know about her location either. So why…”

“Cersei has a father,” I suddenly interjected, and immediately regretted it. Now he was looking at me with undisguised malice and.. surprise? Did he think I didn't know?

“She has  _ no _ father. Just me. I am her only relative. That old jerk disavowed her when we said we wanted to get married. I don't even know if he’s alive or not. I hope not.”

Stark coughed awkwardly. “I think in that case you would know about it — something would accrue to your wife, for sure..”

“If that douchebag of a father hadn't blotted her out of his will — then maybe,” he'd lose patience and often run his hands through his hair. “So you will be looking for her or not?”

“I think you’ll want to hear what Mrs. Merryweather has to tell,” Detective began as politely as possible, “perhaps that way we can get a more detailed picture.”

And the picture was as follows. Tuesday morning Jaime Hill left the house at 8:15 a.m. after having breakfast with his wife and wishing her a good day. Her working day began as much as an hour later, which once served as the reason for buying a second car.

He claimed that it was then that he saw her for the last time.

“I knew that in the evening she would go out, and I had no reason to call her.”

“And during the day? Didn't you call her during the day?”

Orton and I call each other at least three times a day. Plans change rapidly, Russell makes his own adjustments, the routine of one day doesn’t guarantee that the next one will go the same way.

“We didn’t call each other.”

Half an hour later, we learned that this was confirmed by the call history.

Yes, we could hang out and sit almost until closing time before. And yet I could understand why he didn’t call her right away. We were sitting in this office like two conspirators who are trying to find out if their partner has blurted out too much, all being in the presence of a third person. One thing could be said with certainty — either he very talentedly pretended not to know that I was aware of their family problems, or he really didn’t know. Which gave me the edge, of course.

The first call to his wife he made at 0:13. She didn't pick up the phone. He called two more times, at intervals of five and ten minutes, and then dialed me. But then I was having a golden dream in my own bed, and the phone, forgotten on the first floor and also discharged, could not stop me.

Jaime didn’t call Melisandre — he simply hadn’t had her number.

Then he called her office; the building is guarded, and at night calls from all phones are forwarded to the security personnel on duty. A young man listened carefully and checked the entries of the electronic journal, but no: that day no one used a pass in the name of Cersei Esther Hill, the first deputy editor-in-charge.

_ Didn’t come in and didn’t go out. _

He waited until four a.m., periodically trying to get through to Cersei, and at half past four or so he came to the station house — and only now I realized where he got this rumpled air and the desire to wither everyone with a look.

“I’ve drunk a little. Otherwise, I would have fallen asleep.” It even sounded somewhat guilty.

“Well,” said Stark, as if summing up, looking at the sheet of paper in front of her, “the last time you saw your wife was about a day ago, and you thought she was heading to work. Tell me, is her car in place? Is there nothing missing from your house?”

Jaime shook his head.

“And all paraphernalias are also in place? Jewelry? Bank cards?”

He looked up again.

“Do you think I cared if her jewelry was in place?”

“If a person is going to disappear, money is needed, and a lot. We will check her cards for major withdrawals. Do you have a joint account?”

He nodded.

“How often do you use it?”

“I don't know if she does.”

“How come?”

“I haven't used it for a long time, that's why.”

_ But that’s a lie. _

“How many years have you been married?”

He bristled, even bared his teeth, and the sun, which had recently risen over the horizon, shone through the blinds directly into his eyes, which made his gaze completely insane. “Why does it matter?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Thirteen years.”

“And haven't had a child for such a period?”

It was a tactless question, asked, rather, to better compose a psychological portrait of both Cersei and Jaime, a kind of litmus test to check the mood of a couple, but for him it turned out to be the last straw. He got to his feet.

“My wife is missing,” he said through gritted teeth, and his right hand clenched into a fist of its own accord. “But it seems nobody cares here.”

He left, finally casting a dull, not fully focused look at me, and slamming the door so that a chair shook beneath me.

They let me go after about five minutes, finally specifying Melly's address. Detective Stark assured me that no one would come to search me, which could not be said about Cersei's house. If she doesn't show up in two days, the police will be forced to formalize the case. And then they will no longer be limited to conversations with friends.

I noticed him only when I was driving out of the parking lot — it's a miracle that I didn't run over him. Jaime was walking slowly towards the main road, trying to light a cigarette. I slowed down in front of his long shadow just out of politeness, and because the windows of the detective's office overlooked exactly the parking lot. “I can give you a lift,” we weren’t neighbours, but the direction was the same, and I would have dropped him off in ten minutes.

“I'll walk,” he waved when he finally managed to light a cigarette. A thin plume of smoke was drawn through the half-open window.

_ Cersei also refused every offer to give her a ride. The only difference is that she always added "thank you" at the end. _

I drove these thoughts away, even shook my head. It makes sense that they are similar. They are husband and wife after all. Even if Cersei's suspicions were true, now he was tormented. That was also true. Contempt for all who cannot be honest fought an unequal battle with compassion. Maybe he would have worried at least a little less if he had not been guilty. Who knows.

I wanted to stir him up a little.

“Detective said that if Cersei doesn't return in two days, they will come to your house with a search-warrant.”

Jaime inhaled nervously.

“This is all bullshit. I asked to trace her phone. I was told that they cannot fulfill such a request without special permission. Can't track a goddamned phone without a fucking piece of paper!”

“Let me take you home,” I tried again, promising myself that this time would be the last. Jaime shook his head and I lifted the glass. In the rear-view mirror, I could see his blond hair, which looked so beautiful against the background of trees with orange leaves; the red ones, the weaker ones, now lay on the wet asphalt, torn away by yesterday's thunderstorm.

She did not return on the second or third day. Melly and me were summoned to the station again, where our versions were compared. Two police cars were parked near Cersei's house, which I drove past after visiting the station. The front door was open, people in dark blue uniforms came in and out.

I was not a family member and, according to the law enforcement, didn’t deserve to know any details — but I would not have graduated from the department of journalism if sniffing out details wasn’t in my blood. From one of the young guys who didn’t hesitate to discuss work in the smoking room, I learned that a search had been carried out — nothing suspicious was found, and all the personal belongings of the missing were in place, including documents, cards and a driver's license. They didn’t find her phone though; that is why the "spouse", as Jaime was ironically called, insisted on itemization of calls. But it didn’t do any good; Cersei called her colleagues, me and her husband with enviable quantitative constancy, as if she had a limit. It was not possible to find the device itself, although usually all modern phones can be tracked even when turned off.

“And what does it mean?” I asked impatiently.

The unknown detective looked at me strangely and smiled. “This means that the phone is badly damaged and, most likely, cannot be repaired.”

When we were finally asked if Cersei had conflicts with at least someone, it became clear that the investigation could no longer cling to the story of  _ the trip with the aim of whiling sorrow _ . I honestly answered that Cersei listened more than she spoke; and what conflicts can the editor have? Came with a colleague in the same dress? It's ridiculous. Cersei was above it all.

We didn't meet Jaime at the station, but I heard he took two weeks of unpaid leave at work. And the next time I was called only after two weeks, because she didn’t come back.

***

Melly arrived early — she was waiting for me at the same table at which we were sitting when there were three of us. And two of us too. Meetings without Cersei, now knowing for sure that she would not come, seemed somehow blasphemous to both of us. We didn't even discuss it, we just replaced meetings with calls at some point. And so it went on — until yesterday evening.

_ I know what happened to her. _

She silently watched how quickly I got rid of my coat, and how I bent over to her so that she could hear me.

“I know what happened to her.”

She looked at me like I was crazy. I know this for sure, because I often look at my husband that way.

“Well, go, I don't know, help the police,” Melly suggested, spreading her hands. “They obviously don't know.”

“I know who killed her.”

She raised her eyebrow, just like Cersei used to do — and then she looked around several times to make sure no one was listening. “Since when was the case reclassified as murder?”

“Promise not to interrupt.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and smiled, in the old way, very softly - even the lamp above us seemed to emit a warmer orange light. “I will try not to. Please start.”

To begin with, Cersei was, as always, right.

I saw  _ her _ yesterday. I stayed late at work and drove home a little later than usual, already at dusk. At first I thought it was Cersei. I even slowed down as much as possible while passing by. She got out of the car from the front seat. The same height, the same figure, blonde — only when the light of the lantern fell on her did I realize that her hair was rather ash than golden. And quite a bit longer. A mini copy in a mini skirt.

Jaime walked to the door, taking keys from his jacket. I don't think he saw me, he was too busy, and I drove quickly.

I thought about it for a long time at night. Maybe this is a random girl, or maybe the one for whom the pendant was bought — everything is one — but sleeping with a double of your own wife? Is he not right in the head? I am not speaking about the fact that anyone besides me could see them — the police,for example, who would suddenly want to visit the desperate spouse.

Melisandre stretched her arms slightly on either side of the plate and pressed her palms to the table. All this information was disagreeable to her on a physical level, she shuddered. “This means nothing. They might have met recently. Yes, it didn't make Jaime look better, but you can't say …”

“He got the tyres changed.”

Melly made a grimace that usually preceded WHAT-THE-FUCK-ARE-YOU-TALKING-ABOUT sentence. And she was silent, she was not even going to help me somehow.

“Do you understand?”

“No, I don’t, because you are digging deep on four pieces of rubber.”

Unfortunately, I realized this in the morning, taking Russell to the nursery school. Jaime didn’t leave the car in the garage, and it seemed to me that it all looked somehow different. I thought about it at work, and I remembered that before Cersei disappeared, she went to buy new tires for this car. I know that for sure, I was with her. And they were different.

“Do you remember? It was early July. We were sitting here, and he texted her something about his busyness and asked her to buy them in two days or so.”

“I do. He also added that on their joint account it wouldn’t be enough …”

I almost slapped on my forehead.

“What’s that?” Melly asked cautiously.

Joint account. Apparently, after this purchase, Cersei wanted to put a check with the others, and she caught sight of the one that she took for her birthday present.

“So, are we already considering the thought that he is stupid enought to buy gifts for his mistress from their joint account?” my friend narrow herlids.

“That’s not all. Who will change tires three months after they have installed new ones?”

“I don’t know, a motor mechanic?”

It was my turn to roll the eyes.

“Someone who doesn't want to be tracked down because of the tyre treads.”

“The asphalt doesn't care,” Melly objected with the air of a weary connoisseur, raising her glass to her lips.

“Exactly. But if for some reason you need to go out of town.. For example, to hide a bo…”

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?”

In my head, everything was already laid out in perfect order, each clue is a separate box, I just had to take my time and show them to Melisandre in the right order. And put back, without confusing the shelves. “Listen to me, substituting "let's assume" in front of everything I say, okay?”

“Let's assume,” she replied, still moving away from shock.

“Jaime has a mistress. This is kind of fact number one. And there are new tires. This is number two. It was raining that evening when Cersei didn’t come. Do you remember? It was really pouring out there. This is fact number three that even you cannot dispute.”

“Let's assume.”

“Jaime was also the last person to see her. And the only one. Her colleagues last saw her leaving work on Monday.”

I didn't want to make a monster out of him, but.. Maybe they had a fight. Maybe Cersei finally found the strength to call him out, a conflict arose, he flared up and hit her. Or pushed her. Inadvertently, he hardly wanted to harm her for real.

“Do you think he..?”

“I do. People don’t just disappear, leaving all their money, documents, clothes, especially women who were suddenly replaced.”

“This is still just an assumption. What's next?”

Next is always panic. I think it all happened by accident. He got nervous, and like all people who find themselves in such a situation, he tried to save himself. Maybe he was waiting for the rain to end, and when he realized that this wouldn’t happen, he had to drive in the rain. And then he changed tires — when it dawned on him that they would still be looking for her.

“And that's why he was the first to lodge a police report? To deflect suspicion from yourself?”

“Why not?”

“You said that he was the last one who saw her,” Melly suddenly returned to the old thought, “what if it wasn’t Tuesday, but Monday? What if Jaime only started acting when he realized that we were going to raise the alarm anyway?”

“I don’t think so. There wasn’t any rain on Monday night.”

For some time there was only a quiet buzzing at the neighboring tables, the tapping of forks on plates and the chatting waiters. Melisandre was silent, digesting new data, as if she wanted to find inconsistency in them. I would like to do it myself, but the problem was that there were none.

“We can't go to the police with this,” she suddenly said, looking sadly at her hands.

“We won't go to the police.” We finally got to my favorite part, and I felt my left palm itch with impatience. “We'll go to Hill. Are you coming?”


	3. cersei wasn’t there

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! sorry for postponing the release of the last chapter! but here it is, and I can't wait to meet you all in the comments and discuss everything and answer your questions (if you have any). Enjoy the reading!

_Good thing his mistress took out a big life insurance policy._

“So what do they think?” I heard this lovely voice through my own thoughts and the clink of glasses. She had a troubled look and I smiled, but not too broadly — I wanted to save all the ecstasy for the end of the meeting.

“They think she did it, but they just can't prove it.”

We looked at each other and went into a fit of silent laughter. Finally there was a reason.

_A week ago._

Jaime let us into his house as if he had no reason to stay away from us. As if it weren’t him who got rid of his annoying wife, and so skillfully that even the police cannot bring out at least one decent version. He entered the kitchen, offering us lemonade as he walked. We looked at each other in silence. If _she_ were here, he probably would still be nervous. So she's not here. All the better.

Back in the corridor, I asked how he was. In my eyes, this was his last chance to prove to me that he is at least a little compunctious. Jaime shrugged his shoulders awkwardly and said something under his breath.

Then I asked how the investigation was progressing. Jaime asked again if we wanted lemonade and, seeing the negative nods, opened a canned beer. He closed the fridge a little faster than normal people do. Probably he didn’t want us to see that he had milk, albeit coconut milk. Cersei couldn't stand any dairy.

I looked up at the ceiling. There, on the second floor, across from the kitchen, was their bedroom. She probably sleeps in Cersei's bed and everything now. The picture of it was so lifelike that I shuddered; I leaned my lower back on the kitchen island and crossed my arms over my chest.

“Not advancing in any way. They say they warned all the mortuaries and hospitals nearby that if someone alike gets to them, they’ll definitely contact them. God, I'm a piece of shit,” he said suddenly, taking a particularly large sip and running his hand over his face. “Recently I dreamed of her and begged to come back, so.. so we could start everything anew.”

Then I could not stand it.

“It's amazing how you can lie to yourself even in your sleep.”

Jaime raised a confused, uncomprehending look. Only then, already by the eyes, and not by the speech (which is remarkable), did I realize that this was not his first beer of the evening.

“It's amazing how you are able to beg her to return, and yet desecrate your house with the presence of some young..”

“Shhh,” my friend decided to remind me that she was there, smiling tenderly and standing next to him near the stove. “The girl has nothing to do with it. She might not have known that her man was married.”

Jaime had the same eloquent eyes as his wife. Cersei didn’t have to throw plates, walk from corner to corner and exceed decibels. She used to calmly say something like _"I'm very angry now"_ , and the people under her command quickly flew away to redo unsuccessful projects. And now, I saw everything that I needed. He was all to blame, although we didn’t even get down to the gist.

“It happened by accident, she.. was undertaking an internship, and.. I didn't want to, damn it. I tried to tell her ..”

So, not a one-time deal because of drinking, but prolonged playing around with the same girl.

“She was here yesterday,” I reminded him.

He was so depressed that he didn't even ask me how I happened to know.

According to Jaime, she came to get her things. Maybe this was true — but it didn’t change the essence. Then I asked him why he had changed tires. This was the first time I saw a person sober up in seconds.

He asked how I knew and if the police did I assured him the cops didn't know yet, and they wouldn't if he told us. It was a bluff, of course, but I had a voice recorder, with which I wanted to go to the police station the next morning. Spoiler alert: it didn’t happen.

“I didn't tell them everything.” I mentally smiled at this, anticipating the end of this fucking comedy, but Jaime never ceased to leave everybode open-mouthed.

“That night, when she didn’t come home, I.. I went to look for her, I thought maybe she left town, and.. there is a small motel on the outskirts, we spent a few nights in it, when we just moved to the state, and she really liked it there. She wasn’t there, and I bought some energy drinks at the nearest gas station,” a lot of chaotic details, and it wasn’t clear which were related to the case, but I already realized that there was a misunderstanding. “It was raining heavily, I didn't see him on the road, damn..”

He ran down the refrigerator like a drop on a glass and covered his face with his hands.

Jaime fixed the defects on the car the next day by calling a private car service. Unfortunately, the corpses of older men who have been run over are not easily removed.

“Do you want us to believe it?” Melisandre finally asked.

“I threw him into a ditch next to the road,” he said quietly. “And I decided to change the tires only after a week, because it hadn't been raining, and there must have been a trace.”

“Do you want us to believe it?”

“It's true.”

“I tell you how it all happened.” She was already starting to boil dangerously, but I hoped that she would be able to control herself. “Cersei knew. Are you surprised?” She asked mockingly as Jaime removed his hands from his face and lifted his head. “Or rather, she guessed. From the middle of summer. Perhaps even her patience could come to an end. You had a quarrel, and you..”

Jaime got to his feet.

“In my life I’ve never..”

“.. killed her,” she finished, taking two steps back, stepping back from him, because standing he towered over her like a mountain, like the Colossus of Rhodes. Jaime grabbed her forearm and shook her.

“..hurt her. Never. You hear me? Never.”

“You were cheating on her!” she continued, trying to remove his hands. “Don't you think it hurts?”

“I’d never hit her, never hurt her! Do you hear? Say it!” He shook her a few more times, and Melisandre's head jerked back unnaturally. Panic began to build up in me. I grabbed the first thing that came to hand.

I didn’t see Jaime’s face, but I knew from Melly’s that it was something irreparable. Instinctively jerking my knife back, I saw drops of blood falling to the floor. Jaime let go of Melisandre, and apparently touched his T-shirt, stained in the belly area.

“Damn..” he sagged to the floor, trying to press the wound with his left hand.

“Where’s the phone?” Melisandre recovered from the shock. “We should call an ambulance..”

“We shouldn’t.”

She was already going into the corridor in search of a phone, but then she turned sharply and stared at me. “What do you mean "we shouldn’t" ?! He can.. it's different.”

“He didn't call an ambulance for his wife when he killed her .” I don't remember saying that, but later Melly will tell me exactly this phrase. “He took her body somewhere out of town and buried it. Very convenient. No divorce, no property division, just.. a missing wife.”

“I didn’t touch her.. I.. please, call the first-aid,” Jaime turned to her, realizing that he had no questions about me.

Melisandre stood in the doorway, lost like a little puppy thrown into the street. “I’ll be charged if you call,” I suddenly realized. Jaime hissed on the floor. His left arm was like patent red leather, glistening in the light of the lamp.

“Give me the phone. And get out.. I'll call and tell it was a break-in. Please. The phone..”

The emerald eyes looked pleadingly at me, then at Melisandre. We just exchanged glances. “I didn’t kill her,” he said, looking at me again, and he himself seemed to be afraid of the last word. “Okay..”

He wanted to say something else, but suddenly fell silent.

In all our years of friendship with Melisandre, I have never heard so much selective obscenity from her. But so many years of studying each other and living side by side still could not be in vain; it was like.. the embodiment of the word "unity."

My parents had a summer house by Sweetwater River, where my dad taught me how to handle a boat. We both agreed that this is a good place — in a couple of months the river will be covered with ice, and it will be possible not to think about it until spring.

Well, the best thing is that..

Well, the best thing is that his former mistress announced his disappearance. She showed up at the station, and began to cackle that he didn’t answer her calls, and she urgently needed to talk to him. She was almost said to get lost, until she said the name of her ex. Detectives Stark and Greyjoy had to return to that house again. Of course, they didn’t find anything at the Hills — I didn’t clean up so many houses in order not to know how to cover up a scene. I wasn’t specially trained to do that, but it is what it is.

“Do they suspect her because of the insurance?” Melly asked when she finished laughing.

“Exactly. Still trying to figure out if it's fake. Why would Jaime insure her? Only if she slipped him a piece of paper, and he signed without reading. But anyway,” I raised my glass to make our drinks meet, “she is their only, albeit inferior, suspect.”

“Cheers.”

***

There was a knock on the door, but not loud and even somehow polite, as if somebody was afraid to wake me up. I put on my robe and hurried to the door; my head was splitting, and I tried to remember if there was paracetamol or anything for a hangover left in our household supplies.

I recognized her immediately, despite the huge sunglasses. She had perfectly straightened hair, a new gray jacket and a small bag, as if after a visit to me she was about to get in the car and go to work. She was silent, and I let her into the house, carefully closing the door behind me. I didn’t even notice that my hands began to shake.

She entered the living room, took off her glasses and looked straight at me. A wild mixture of irritation, anger and misunderstanding — although in hindsight I felt that the only person who had the right to be indignant here was me.

I was about to ask her what the hell she was doing in my living room, but Cersei opened her mouth.

“Well,” she said, putting her purse on the table and folding her arms over her chest, “and why did you kill my brother?”


End file.
